


Apotheosis

by fragile-teacup (Mrs_Gene_Hunt)



Series: The Spaces Between [12]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Fluff, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 14:15:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9824168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Gene_Hunt/pseuds/fragile-teacup
Summary: A 1000 word post-TWOTL fic. The fourth timestamp for The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, set between Volumes 2 and 3. A flashback to the bluff in the aftermath of Will and Hannibal's defeat of the Dragon, then a peek into their lives one year later in Cuba.Written as a gift for@cassiespoeticnonsensefor the 2016Hannigram Holiday Exchange.I'mfragile-teacupon Tumblr. Drop by for a visit any time!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CassiesPoeticNonsense](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassiesPoeticNonsense/gifts).



The hunt. Exquisite symmetry in the savage grace of their dance, as he had always known there would be. As he had always feared he would glory in. The kill. A worthy opponent but pathos in the Dragon's final lonely metamorphosis. Hannibal. A revelation. Unearthly firebird, enchanting in his vivid plumage. Will cannot look away. Until something else distracts him.

Blood. Slick and warm against his skin, tangy and cloying on his tongue. 

'It really does look black in the moonlight.'

Pinned by Hannibal's heated gaze, helplessly drawn, Will reaches out. This time, there is no cold transparent barrier beneath his palm to mock his need; a firm, warm grasp tugs him up and _in_.

'See? This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us.'

He's never heard a sound as melodious as the deep, unsteady rasp of Hannibal's voice in this moment. Enraptured by eyes of flame that lick over his features with intoxicating hunger, he can barely form a shaky reply.

'It's beautiful.'

And it is. It is beautiful. Terribly, horribly beautiful.

So tentative, so tender. Hannibal makes love to him with caressing glances. But it isn't enough. In his dazzled awakening, Will craves touch. Craves Hannibal. Needs his centring reassurance. He grasps Hannibal's blood-soaked shoulder and kneads, seeking comfort, sustenance. Nudges closer until he feels Hannibal reciprocate, shuddering awed appreciation.

_You've wanted this. I've wanted this. How did I never realise? How has it taken us so long to get here?_

Upon the precipice they entwine, their coming together a glorious conflagration. It burns away the impurities of the past, leaving them shining and whole. A pure _Becoming_. Surrounded by Hannibal, bathed in his love, for a moment Will feels born anew.

But the ashes of his memories cling with sticky stubbornness. 

_'I gave you a rare gift, but you didn't want it.'_  
_'Didn't I?'_

_'You delight in wickedness and then berate yourself for the delight.'_  
_'You delight. I tolerate.'_

_'Can't live with him; can't live without him. Is that what this is?'_  
_'I guess this is my Becoming.'_

And so the Lamb becomes a Lion and the world will know his wrath. 

But then... what? 

Will rests his cheek on Hannibal’s chest, sadness welling, thoughts like needles puncturing his ecstasy. 

Apogee reached, what is left to aspire to? How can paradise be replicated? Hannibal's arms are a cradle for this newborn _thing_ , should Will choose to let it live. And if he does? How much of _him_ will be subsumed and how much survive? And what the cost to the world with Hannibal flying free?

_I can't let him go free. But... I can't let him go. Not again._

From the corner of his eye, a glinting alternative beckons: a red-black gateway spot lit by the moon's silvery beams. 

Leading straight down. To Heaven or Hell? 

_Does it matter? Either way, we'll be together. Okay, God, if you want us gone, here's your chance. But if we survive, you take what comes._

Hannibal's heartbeat races beneath Will's cheek, trembling grip faltering. Will reaches with his free hand and tugs Hannibal's arm up. Glories in the possessive grip of fingers on his waist. Right arm snaking around Hannibal's neck, he tenderly strokes the short hair at Hannibal's nape as he continues his desperate bargaining.

_Just one more moment. Just one more before we have to go…_

With a whisper of a sigh, he instigates forward motion. And in the seconds before they slice the inky, sparkling water, he catalogues every last precious sensation. Blood, black as tar and thick as treacle, salty sweet in his mouth. Air whipping his cheek. Hannibal's forgiving arms tightening around him, a kiss of submission pressed into his hair. Hannibal's silent tears falling like rain on his cheek.

'Sh, sh.' Tries to offer comfort.

Black silk envelops them, still entwined. An eternity of nothing. Then tugging and pushing and a familiar, beloved voice, hoarse with pain and fear. 'Will, don't leave me. Don't you dare.'

***

One year later, an anniversary of sorts. Dancing on the terrace and the same brand of wine: Hannibal's quixotic idea. Afterwards, a stroll down to the beach, Ceph barking at their heels. The beach is theirs, like the villa perched above it. But no eroding bluff this time. No Dragon. No Jack. It's been a long journey: from the choppy waters of the Chesapeake to a brief sojourn in Baltimore ( _thank you, Bedelia_ ) to a few months in Argentina. Discovering each other along the way. Finally Cuba and a home by the sea. Here they feel safe; here they feel free.

Will stands at the edge of the lapping water, bare toes wriggling in the sand, eyes on the shimmering horizon. Feels Hannibal behind him, arms encircling, pulling him back against his chest. Possessive.

'It's a beautiful moon.' 

Loves the slightly rough quality to Hannibal's voice. Knows what it means and his heart rate speeds in anticipation of the pleasure to come. 

Turning in his arms, Will presses close. Entwined again, on the edge of something again. But this time, there's no doubt about the outcome. 

'It's been a beautiful night. Thank you.’

Hannibal reaches for his left hand, raises it to his lips. A tender kiss against the platinum band placed there seven months before in a Buenos Aires registry office. Its twin nestles snug on Hannibal's finger; Will brushes his thumb across it.

_Mine._

'We should dance more often,' Hannibal murmurs, eyes hungry on Will's mouth. 'Would you like me to teach you the tango?'

'Hm.' A sting of jealousy. 'Isn't that Bedelia's forte?'

Hannibal smirks. 'Not any more.' 

'You are a very bad man.'

Fingers lace. Palm to palm. 

'Would you have me any other way?'

Breathes against Hannibal's parted lips, 'Not in a thousand years. Remember?'

'I remember.' 

Still exquisite symmetry between them but a dance of a different kind. They have evolved. They have _Become_. 

Will smiles. Whispers, just before he crushes their mouths together, 'That's my boy.'

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this latest instalment of Will and Hannibal's journey. And thank you to all who have been kind enough to leave kudos/comments. Your generosity and encouragement has meant more than I can say. :)


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